


Practice Makes Perfect

by dedkake



Category: One Direction (Band), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fans & Fandom, Kissing, M/M, Practice Kissing, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedkake/pseuds/dedkake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis are X-Men fanboys and Harry offers to help Louis write better smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juliusschmidt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/gifts).



> This is my sister's fault. I asked her to write a fic where her fandom and mine overlapped - she told me to do it instead. So I did. I wrote One Direction fic. For her. (also thanks for the beta ilu)

“You can’t actually think the old movies are better,” Louis says around a mouthful of popcorn. Somewhere from the forgotten television, James Marsden is whining. “I mean, _Cyclops_.”

Harry, who has apparently not forgotten about the movie, his eyes glued to the screen, gives Louis a half-hearted shove. “That’s not even the point,” he mutters. “I’m talking about the quality of the _writing_. The metaphors overlap with life today so much better. And who would ever even believe that the Cuban Missile Crisis was caused by mutants?”

“Just because it takes place in the past doesn’t make it unimportant!” Louis says. “Besides, it’s about establishing the universe. We need to know where the characters come from.”

The look Harry gives him from the corner of his eye is scathing. “You just think James McAvoy has a great ass.”

Louis bristles because it’s partly true. “And _you_ just think Sir Ian is the best actor to ever have lived,” he says, glaring down at the bowl of popcorn.

“Well, some things are just true.”

“Like James McAvoy’s ass,” Louis mutters, flicking a piece of popcorn to the floor. “And the fact that Charles and Erik are super gay.”

“In _all_ of the movies,” Harry says, without hesitation. “ _And_ the comics.”

Louis gives up on the popcorn, setting it aside and dropping himself across Harry’s lap. “Probably even Sir Ian believes that,” he says, staring into Magneto’s blue eyes on the screen.

“And James McAvoy,” Harry adds, pushing Louis over a little—it’s actually more comfortable.

Grabbing Harry’s hand, just to hold it, Louis says, “Imagine if they’d met in _Days of Future Past_?”

Harry squeezes his hand, finally grinning down at him instead of the screen. “I think I’ve read that fic,” he says, running his thumb over the back of Louis’ hand.

“Yeah, because I wrote it,” Louis says. “And it was perfect.”

“Almost,” Harry says, betrayal twisting in Louis’ gut. “They could’ve made out or something, yeah?”

Oh. Well. That’s a nice image.

Louis grins. “That can be arranged.”

“Except you’re shit at writing smut,” Harry says, grabbing the popcorn.

The betrayal’s back, but Louis ignores it. Because Harry is _wrong_. “You always say that, but somehow I always get hits. And kudos. And notes on tumblr.”

Harry chews a noisy handful of popcorn and says, “Some people have no taste.”

“My smut is very tasteful,” Louis says, rolling to face the television more fully. Harry is _wrong_ , but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t _hurt_ —writing is _hard_ and criticism from his friend doesn’t help. “You don’t even write smut.”

Harry laughs and Louis can’t help feeling warmed by it despite himself. “I don’t write much of anything, but I could still probably write better smut than you.”

“Is that a challenge?” Louis asks, sitting up and grabbing for his laptop. This is a battle he can definitely win. “Go get your computer and we’ll see.”

Leaning back against the couch, Harry whines. The noise is soft, especially under the sound of the movie, but Louis’ stomach flutters anyway.

“It’s too far,” Harry says, sprawling somehow more bonelessly than before. “You write and I’ll tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t prove you’re better; it just proves you’re bossy.”

Harry shrugs and says, “I’m easy.”

_No, you’re not_ , Louis wants to say, but he doesn’t. He pulls up a document instead. “Fine. I’ll just write the best smut ever.”

“Between Old Erik and Young Charles,” Harry says, suddenly much more energetic. “In _Days of Future Past_.”

“Right. He finds Erik in the future,” Louis says, typing out a simple intro. Getting them to touch is what’s important here—he can fix everything else later.

“This is going to be horrible,” Harry says, leaning against Louis’ shoulder. It’s terribly rude and Louis doesn’t know why he’s not bothered at all. “Your smut is _so boring_.”

“You could write your own, you know,” Louis reminds him, trying to focus on his writing, not on the unsolicited criticism.

“Maybe you just need to practice a little, to know what to write,” Harry says, which is ridiculous.

“That is ridiculous,” Louis says, barely even glancing up from the screen. It’s not like he’ll be able to get any practice here. “I just can’t write with you sitting over my shoulder like this.”

Harry huffs and Louis thinks it might be a laugh, but he doesn’t look up to see. “Fine,” Harry says, and then, “That’s cheating! You aren’t even writing it.”

Louise blinks down at the screen and what he’s just written.

_Charles’ heart races as he stares into Erik’s eyes, Erik’s thoughts washing over him. There’s fear and sadness and regret and so much love that Charles doesn’t know what to think or what to do, but then Erik is leaning in, kissing him and it’s warm and wet and_ desperate.

Okay. Maybe Harry has a point. But it still sounds _good_ and that’s really all that matters.

“How would you write it?” Louis asks, turning a glare on Harry, fingers still finishing his last word.

He freezes, though, when Harry’s hand comes up and brushes over his cheek, wraps around his neck. His fingers are warm and Louis shivers as Harry runs his thumb in an arch over his cheek. Distantly, he’s aware that the DVD has looped back to its menu, the music too loud, now.

“What—” he starts, breath catching in his throat as Harry leans in, his eyes dropping to Louis’ lips.

This is not real, Louis decides. Maybe he passed out choking on popcorn earlier and this is a dream. Maybe he choked and died and went to heaven. Because there is no reality in which Harry would be doing this, leaning in, his breath warm over Louis’ lips as he tilts his head.

“See,” Harry says, very close. “You always forget about noses.”

Louis wants to say something about how noses don’t matter in fic because _who cares_ , but then Harry kisses him, his eyes sliding closed, fingers twisting into Louis’ hair more gently than Louis thinks is possible. And, Louis realizes almost immediately, his nose is squished.

Too quickly, Harry is pulling away, grinning and ruffling Louis’ hair—Louis tries to ignore the way his chest hurts. Of course Harry didn’t mean anything by it, of course nothing has changed.

Swallowing, Louis turns back to his keyboard. “Maybe the details are important,” he cedes, stabbing at the backspace button until his last paragraph has disappeared.

Harry laughs again, warm and close to Louis’ shoulder, too close. He hasn’t moved back at all, still leaning into Louis’ space, and Louis finds it’s suddenly hard to breathe.

“Come on,” Harry says, leaning over to look at the screen. “Write more about Ian McKellen’s glorious nose.”

Louis takes a quick, calming breath, letting it out slowly through his nose. He can do this; he’s been doing this for the past three years as Harry’s roommate. The only thing that’s changed is that they’ve _kissed_. On the _mouth. Fuck._

Doing the only thing he can think to do, Louis turns back to the screen.

_Charles’ heart races as he stares up into Erik’s eyes, lined with unfamiliar wrinkles, but still that same steel blue, still the same intensity. His mind, too, is bright and more inviting than Charles has ever hoped to find it, spilling over with not only regret and grief, but also so much love that it’s nearly blinding._

_This is what his future holds, even at its worst, and he has to blink back tears as Erik leans towards him, resting his forehead on Charles’._

_The kiss itself isn’t unexpected, not with the way Erik’s mind is shining bright with emotion, but it’s far more gentle than Charles is used to, like he’s treasuring every moment as his lips drag over Charles’. Charles tips his head automatically, knowing exactly how to slot himself against Erik, his hand coming up to frame Erik’s face._

_Erik’s nose—_

Harry giggles—an honest to god giggle—at that, jarring Louis out of his writing. “I thought that’s what you wanted,” he says, trying to remember where his story’s going.

“Yeah.” Harry breathes the word right into Louis’ neck. “Yeah, but, it sounds so funny. _Erik’s nose_ —it’s like you’re making it a character.”

“I bet Sir Ian’s nose is very intelligent and politically active in the world of noses,” Louis says, still struggling to think of what comes next.

But then Harry is laughing with his whole body, collapsing against Louis’ shoulder, his face pressed into his shoulder. And Louis wants to laugh, too. He wants to curl around Harry and laugh at how stupid this whole night has been.

He wants to kiss him again, wants to find out what it feels like to push into his mouth, to run his hands over Harry’s chest as he does, to feel him breathe. He’s wanted it for so long, but Harry has just kissed him and moved on.

Fuck it. He doesn’t care. Harry’s close and warm and he’s going to enjoy it.

When Harry’s finally caught his breath, Louis says, “You know there’s probably fic out there where Charles and Erik _are_ noses,” and Harry gasps with laughter again.

“Can you imagine,” he says, leaning up over Louis to catch his gaze. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, darling,” and he’s using a horrible fake voice that doesn’t sound anything like James McAvoy or Ian McKellen, “it’s just that my mouth was trying to kiss your mouth and somehow we’ve run into each other something awful.”

They both collapse in fits of laughter, leaning into each other. It lasts too long, and by the end, they’re more laughing because of each other than because of the joke, and they fade into soft chuckles, reluctant to let go of the moment.

But Louis catches sight of the cursor again, remembers that he’s proving a point and doing a damn good job of it and Harry is trying to sabotage him.

“I can’t write this with their noses, now!” Louis exclaims, deleting the start of his new paragraph.

Harry is staring at him, a smile still at the corner of his lips. “Okay,” he says, his voice unfairly even. “Then what happens after they kiss?”

Taking a deep breath, Louis turns a few starts over in his mind, but they all sound bland, almost fake. He’s fairly certain his writer’s block is due to Harry looking over his shoulder, but he’s also sure it’s not because he’s self-conscious of his writing. It’s Harry, close and real and tempting and _distracting_. And, apparently, willing to coach.

“I don’t think it would actually make sense for them to fuck, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Louis says, but he can’t bring himself to look up at Harry, especially not when he feels his sharp breath at Louis’ words.

“That’s too much for temporal telepathic connection to handle?” Harry asks after a beat, but he’s leaning closer, his hand tight on Louis’ shoulder.

Louis hums agreement, still trying to figure out the next words of the story. “Maybe they kiss again,” he says, slowly, the idea unfolding carefully in his mind.

“Makes sense,” Harry says, and Louis can hear his smile without looking. “I’d kiss Ian McKellen as much as possible, too.”

Ignoring that ridiculous logic, Louis tries to get his hands to stop shaking. “I don’t know how it would work, though,” he says, and he winces at the way his voice sounds hoarse and weak.

Harry, of course, doesn’t seem to notice. “You need some practice again?” he asks, sitting up straight.

“They’re going to kiss like they’ll never see each other again,” Louis says, proud that his voice sounds normal this time. “But they’re also giving each other hope.”

Harry is staring at him, his brow tilted as he listens. When Louis doesn’t say anything more—because he’ll say something stupid if he does—Harry says, “And?”

“I mean, I know what their emotions are. I just don’t know how to translate that into action.” Louis’ heart is pounding so hard it almost hurts, but he doesn’t want to take it back, doesn’t want anything but for Harry to kiss him again.

Nodding, Harry places his hand against Louis’ cheek, settling his fingers where they’d been before. “Like we’re about to save the world, but never see each other again,” he says, voice low.

Louis barely nods before Harry is pushing forward again, pulling Louis’ lip into his mouth with tongue and teeth 

This time, Louis doesn’t even notice their noses. He could breathe from Harry’s mouth all day—or maybe they’ll just never need to breathe again, because this is it, this is their last kiss and Louis needs it to last forever.

Harry’s fingers are less gentle now, holding tight to the side of his face with one hand, the other twisting into the fabric of Louis’ shirt at his waist. And he moans, the noise caught deep in his chest where Louis can feel it against his side. Louis needs to know more—needs to feel it all—needs to get his hands on Harry—needs to hold on to Harry so he doesn’t fall.

It’s only natural to bring his hand up to Harry’s chest, to grab his shirt—soft, so soft—but the movement knocks his laptop off his lap. His stomach drops and he pulls back to catch it before any damage is done, wrenching himself out of Harry’s grasp.

He manages to catch it, snapping it closed in his haste. His heart is in his throat and his pulse racing as he stares down at his hands on his laptop, where his and Harry’s ankles and feet are tangled against the couch.

This is crazy, he realizes—it’s too much. He’s made a fool of himself and Harry is going to _know_ that it’s not all for the fic. How could he not, after that kiss?

But Harry doesn’t say anything, not even when Louis clears his throat and looks up again, setting his laptop aside.

“That’s probably enough writing, for now,” Louis says, not meeting Harry’s gaze. He can’t. He needs to escape.

When Louis moves to stand, though, Harry makes a soft noise of protest and grabs his hand. Louis thinks his heart might beat its way right out of his chest.

“What if,” Harry says, his voice strangely quiet, “there’s one more kiss?”

Closing his eyes, Louis tries to think back to the fic, tries not to think about how much he wishes Harry were talking about the two of them.

“One more kiss,” Harry continues, his grip strong around Louis’ fingers. “A kiss to prove they’ll always be there for each other, even if they don’t know what happens next.”

Louis swallows, looking down at his hand in Harry’s. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, and maybe Harry doesn’t either, but he knows what he wants. “Okay,” he says, sitting back against the couch and dragging his gaze up to meet Harry’s. “How would that go?”

Harry doesn’t smile, exactly, but his eyes are bright as he leans in again. There’s something there, something Louis hadn’t known to look for before. Maybe he’s spent so long worrying that he’s forgotten to look.

His thoughts are cut off, though, because this kiss is softer and shorter by far, but Harry has both his hands on his face and he presses their foreheads together when he pulls back, keeping close. Harry is everywhere and Louis can see nothing else.

“What happens next?” Harry asks softly. His eyes are steady, but this time Louis can feel the way his hands are trembling and this is _real_.

“I don’t know,” he says, because he doesn’t know and because he doesn’t want to ruin this by giving voice to his hopes. “Let’s find out.”

Harry’s brow twists for a moment and then he’s laughing again, burying his face in Louis’ neck and gasping for air and Louis thinks for one horrified moment that this has all been a joke.

But then Harry’s hands are on his face again and he’s grinning. “I can’t believe you’re quoting Magneto to me right now,” he says, breathless.

Before Louis can protest—he sees the parallel now, but that’s not what he’d meant—Harry is kissing him again. He’s still laughing, though, and it’s contagious, catching a smile at Louis lips.

“You’re such a nerd,” Louis murmurs, running his hands over his back, feeling him breathe.

Harry grins. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Considering what’s happened tonight, Louis decides that Harry has a point, but he’s not going to say that, so he kisses him again, and he’s already lost count of how many kisses they’ve shared. It seems unimportant, now, because Harry’s smile promises more.

**Author's Note:**

> [on tumblr](http://dedkake.tumblr.com/post/128127437172)


End file.
